


Joyride

by jessalae



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Vehicles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He muses to himself that good sex feels, appropriately, like flying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Joyride

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "vehicular" square on my card for round three of kink bingo; originally posted on my Dreamwidth August 27, 2010.

The first time, Sulu only notices it because he’s unbelievably bored.

They’re on their way back from an exploration mission that has been almost disturbingly routine — no surprise klingons, no ten-foot lizard creatures, no sex pollen, nothing. The Enterprise is still orbiting the last of the tediously pleasant planets on their list, and Sulu shifts restlessly in his seat behind the helm, more than ready to leave.

“Let’s take her out, Mr. Sulu,” the Captain drawls from his chair.

“Gladly, Captain,” Sulu replies, and wraps his hand around the throttle.

He glances momentarily at Chekov to make sure the course is set, and notices that his navigator-turned-boyfriend is looking at him strangely. The proper coordinates are flashing on the display, though, so he disengages the external initial dampener and opens the throttle, easing them out of orbit. As soon as they’re free of Planet Boredom’s grip, he flicks a switch and pushes the accelerator all the way down, feeling the momentary drag in the back of his skull as they fly out at maximum warp.

He hears a strange squeak from off to his right, and looks again at Chekov, who is flushed a brilliant pink all the way to his hairline. He frowns slightly, a silent question. Chekov bites his lip, looking torn, then jerks his head almost imperceptibly towards the doors. Sulu frowns more, but swivels around in his chair.

“Captain, we’ll be in warp for the next forty minutes,” he says. “Permission to take a quick break?”

“Sure, sure,” the Captain says, looking broodingly at nobody in particular. “Just get Ensign Jacobs to take the helm for you.”

Sulu waits outside the sliding doors. Chekov joins him after a minute, and doesn’t even look at him as he grabs the front of Sulu’s shirt and drags him towards the elevator.

“Hey— hey!” Sulu protests, jogging so his shirt won’t stretch too much. He stops complaining when the elevator doors slip closed and Chekov pounces, kissing him extremely thoroughly.

“Oh,” is all that Sulu can manage when the elevator finally arrives at the level their quarters are on. Chekov propels him firmly down the hallway and into his room, and then renders him even less coherent for the next half an hour.

Sulu arrives back on the bridge about five minutes before they’re due to arrive. If Ensign Jacobs notices that he looks a bit more disheveled than usual, she’s polite enough not to say so.

 

Sulu knows the saying: one time is happenstance, two coincidence, and you can’t know there’s a pattern until time number three. But he’s noticed that Chekov doesn’t seem to do coincidences, so he pays extra attention the second time it happens.

They’re on their way out this time, just cruising at a sub-warp speed because there’s no sense in using up their energy when the trade dispute hasn’t really turned ugly yet. The planets in question are off in the Gand sector, which isn’t their usual territory, so Sulu is watching the displays carefully, adding new pages to his mental map of space.

He can barely register seeing the first asteroid before he springs into action, stabbing a button on the controls and firing the port thrusters to swing them out of the way. The ship lurches, and then everyone else on the bridge seems to come to life, all yelling at once. Finally the Captain manages to shout them down.

“What was that, Mr. Sulu?”

“Asteroid, sir,” Sulu says grimly, his eyes never leaving the display. “Medium-sized, but at the speed we’re moving I thought it best to avoid it.”

“Captain, my instruments barely registered the object’s presence until it had already passed,” Spock says. “I believe our forward sensors may be experiencing difficulties.”

“Do we still have visual?” the Captain asks, and the others scramble to put it up on the display. On the larger screen, Sulu can see the vague outlines of other asteroids. A lot of other asteroids. He grips the throttle tighter and sits up straighter in his chair.

“Well, it looks like it’s up to you, Mr. Sulu,” the Captain says. Sulu nods, forces himself to breathe, and urges the ship forward again.

He navigates easily around the first few, the tension gradually leaving his shoulders. His hands move back and forth from the control panel to the throttle as he sends the ship gliding through open space, making the occasional smooth turn or slight adjustment. His gaze stays fixed on the large display, but as he relaxes he begins to notice small noises coming from his right, and senses Chekov fidgeting a bit in his seat. Just as an experiment, he speeds up a bit through the next stretch of asteroid-free space, and is rewarded with a tiny gasp.

After fifteen harrowing but also rather intriguing minutes, they seem to be out of the woods, and Chekov plots them a course to the nearest Starfleet outpost to get their forward sensors checked. As soon as they arrive, Sulu beckons Chekov off the bridge with a wave of his hand. 

He makes it all the way into his room before Chekov catches up with him and pins him against the wall, fingers curling into Sulu’s hair and lips hot against his.

Sulu’s a little giddy and a lot turned on, so he’s down to his briefs before he remembers he had a question for Chekov.

“Hey,” he pants, breaking a deliciously wet kiss and holding Chekov off with one hand. “What was that about?”

Chekov looks confused. “What was what about?”

“All those noises you were making.” Sulu says. “Why?”

Chekov flushes. “Does it matter?” He mouths hotly at Sulu’s neck, and it takes quite a bit of Sulu’s willpower to peel him away.

“No, really,” he insists. “Does me flying turn you on?”

Chekov turns a deeper shade of red and surges forward, clearly kissing him just to shut him up. To be honest, Sulu doesn’t really mind.

 

Ensign Jacobs is more than happy to take an extra night off, and doesn’t dig too deeply when Sulu asks her not to take her name off the night shift roster just yet. He waits to submit his name until the last possible moment, so when he walks onto the bridge, Chekov blinks at him in surprise before breaking into a wide grin.

“You have night shift duty also tonight?” he asks, sounding puzzled but happy.

“Jacobs asked me to take her place,” Sulu lies. “Said she needed a personal night.”

“Well, I am certainly not complaining.”

Sulu settles into his chair and gazes out at the display. The ship is on cruise control, flying through well-charted space at a reasonable speed. The computer could handle this perfectly well.  
But computers deserve nights off too, don’t they?

Chekov looks confused when Sulu switches the controls over to manual. “What are you doing? There is nothing out here.”

“I know,” says Sulu, apparently consumed in checking the settings on all the engines. “Nothing but one starship in a whole lot of empty space.”

He grins at Chekov, whose face is apprehensive.

“Let’s see what this baby can do,” Sulu says, and opens the throttle.

The Enterprise zooms forward, its speed increasing little by little. Sulu is careful to keep the movement smooth so that the ship’s other inhabitants won’t notice.

Chekov’s eyes widen, and he grins uncertainly. Sulu puts on his best “dashing and confident pilot” face and curves their path ever so slightly, wheeling to the left just enough to feel the drag of centripetal force. He banks to the right, swinging the ship around skillfully, then straightens their course. At Chekov’s slight gasp, Sulu pulls back on the throttle, sending them soaring upwards, and turns again. The Enterprise hums underneath his fingers.

He glances at Chekov, assessing his progress. His boyfriend is staring at him, biting his bottom lip, his chest rising and falling faster than usual. Sulu deepens his gaze, looking at Chekov with half-lidded eyes.

“Here we go,” he says, his voice coming out rough and deep, and flips the switch for warp.  
They’re only at warp for a moment, but as Sulu brings the ship back to regular speed he can tell that Chekov’s mouth has fallen open, that his hands are gripping the console in a barely controlled way. He turns to his right, one finger on the cruise control button.

“Well?” he says, and that’s all it takes. Chekov lunges, nearly knocking him out of his seat, and Sulu waits to hear the beep confirming that computer navigation has been reinstated before he starts kissing back.

Chekov is panting, desperate. He slides easily into Sulu’s lap, twining his arms around Sulu’s neck and his legs over the arms of the chair. After a long, fevered moment, he grabs Sulu’s hair and pulls his head back just enough to break the kiss.

“You are too sexy,” he gasps. “When you are flying the ship, all I can do — all I can think about is what I am going to do to you when I get you to my room.”

“That must be pretty distracting,” Sulu observes, trying to sound nonchalant. “Are you sure you’re being an attentive navigator?”

Chekov looks offended for a moment. “Of course I am,” he says, “I am the best—” and Sulu cuts him off with a deep kiss.

“I know you are,” Sulu breathes into Chekov’s mouth, and Chekov laughs. His fingers scrabble at Sulu’s sides, pulling his uniform shirt up and out of the way, running smooth hands down his abs.

“And not just at navigation,” Chekov practically purrs, long fingers flicking expertly over Sulu’s nipples. Sulu growls and pulls his shirt all the way off, arching his back as Chekov’s hands find new territory to explore. He knows he should be worried about getting caught _in flagrante delicto_ on the bridge, but the leftover adrenaline rush from flying and the satisfying weight of Chekov on his lap push those thoughts from his mind.

Sulu kisses the side of Chekov’s neck, making Chekov grind down against him, and the roll of his hips nearly has Sulu losing it right then and there. He levers Chekov up momentarily and squirms out of his pants; Chekov, always a quick study, pulls off an incredible feat of acrobatics in removing his own pants without unwrapping his legs from Sulu’s waist. Sulu kisses Chekov deeply, palming his cock just the way he knows Chekov likes it. Chekov whimpers and breaks the kiss, panting into Sulu’s mouth a few times before he recovers enough to speak.

“Fuck me. Please, just, fuck me.”

Sulu doesn’t need telling twice. He flicks open the bottle of lube he recovered from his pocket, spills some over his fingers, and starts working Chekov open. Chekov writhes like a porn star the whole time, moaning little snippets like “Ah, fuck” and “Yes, yes, more” and making the five minutes feel like five hours. Sulu gives up when Chekov looks at him with pleading eyes and pants, “Please, I want your cock, now,” and who knew such an incredibly cheesy line could make him feel like his whole body was on fire?

At first the angle is awkward — Sulu doesn’t quite have the leverage he needs, and Chekov could overbalance and fall back onto the console at any moment. Then Chekov braces his heels on the arms of the chair, and Sulu gets a better grip on his hips, and suddenly everything is amazing. Sulu mouths blindly at Chekov’s collarbone as he thrusts, lost in friction and heat and the little (and not-so-little) noises Chekov is making. 

He muses to himself that good sex feels, appropriately, like flying. 

It’s the last coherent thought he has for a while.

The next day, Commander Spock has some choice words for Sulu about irregularities in the computer’s access log and abuse of flight privileges. Sulu frowns and nods and apologizes profusely, but something in his eyes tells the Commander that, contrary to all logic, he regrets nothing.


End file.
